


My Skin Will Start to Fall Apart

by suicider00m



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Cutting, M/M, Recovery, Secrets, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:18:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8237449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suicider00m/pseuds/suicider00m
Summary: request: tyler is celebrating being three years clean from self harm, so he has josh over because josh was a large reason why tyler was so successful in recovery. however, what tyler doesn’t know is that josh has been harming himself (1/3)the entire time, and began doing so long before tyler ever did. somehow during the night tyler finds out that josh has been hurting himself, and josh’s anxiety runs into overdrive so he locks himself into the bathroom before tyler can really do (2/3)anything. tyler must then convince josh to let him in and help, for he has a fear he knows exactly what josh is doing behind that locked door (3/3)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hidefromeveryone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidefromeveryone/gifts).



> oh boi
> 
> this was difficult and heartbreaking to write, hope you like it though!!
> 
>  
> 
> title based on Fall Away by Twenty One Pilots

_Tyler: what are you doing this friday_

_Josh: no plans, what u thinkin??_

_Tyler: it’s 3 years_

_Tyler: wanted to celebrate_

_..._

_..._

_..._

_Josh: okay_

✛ ✛ ✛

Tyler used to be fucked up.

He still is fucked up in certain ways, but he used to be _really_ fucked up. He didn’t know how to deal with his problems, didn’t know how to cope with his doubts and insecurities, so he broke open a shaving razor and ripped his skin to shreds. It had continued for a while, slowly getting worse and worse as the habit wore on, until one day he took it too far; he ended up on Josh’s doorstep with slit wrists that wouldn’t stop bleeding as he sobbed and screamed and begged his best friend to “Help me, Josh, I don’t want to die, okay? _I don’t want to die.”_

Josh hadn’t reacted when he saw all the blood, didn’t gag or retch when he saw the insides of his friend’s arms, he just sighed and carefully wrapped an arm around Tyler’s waist, leading him into his room where he grabbed a sewing needle and dental floss and began to fix up the broken boy. 

That was three years ago, and in the interim, Tyler had dropped out of college, published his first book of poetry, and started dating Josh. He’d also started to see a therapist, take antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication, and stopped self harming. This was his three year anniversary of being clean, and he wanted to spend it with the person who had been the biggest influence in helping him to quit. 

There had been so many nights where Josh had held Tyler in his arms as the boy cried and tried to scratch his skin off, screaming about how he wanted to hurt, how he _deserved_ to hurt; so many nights when Josh had torn through Tyler’s apartment, looking for any hidden blades or sharp pieces of plastic; so many nights when Tyler kicked and punched and spat at Josh, demanding to be left alone because he was an adult and could make his own decisions; so many nights when Josh wanted to give up but never did because he wanted Tyler to love himself as much as Josh loved him.

The first few months were the worst, but after that it got better. There were less and less of _those_ nights and more nights where Tyler just needed to not be alone, nights they would spend watching shitty sitcom reruns while eating popcorn and twizzlers and having contests to see who could chug a Red Bull the fastest. More nights where they would talk about their hopes and dreams, their fears and insecurities, about the future that they wanted to build for themselves. 

Soon enough a whole year passed, and then two, and then two and a half, and somewhere in between the six months from there to three years, Tyler and Josh started dating. It was hard to pinpoint just when it happened because nothing really changed afterwards. They still hung out, watched shitty sitcom reruns while eating junk food, but now they would cuddle and kiss during the commercials and exchange ‘I love you’s before falling asleep on the couch. 

Three years later and Tyler was okay.

✛ ✛ ✛

“Fuck you, I had the whole situation under control!”

They were spending the night at Tyler’s apartment, eating pizza and listening to the new Blink-182 album while retelling their favorite stories from their time together. 

Josh laughed, rolling his eyes in disbelief. “Sure, that’s why I had to bail you out of jail at four in the morning. _Totally_ under control.”

Tyler pouted at Josh, narrowing his eyes before suddenly pouncing on the boy and doing his best to pin him down. Unfortunately, he hadn’t thought about the amount of muscle Josh had on him and soon found himself pressed to the seat of the couch, trapped under Josh’s body with his wrists pinned above him. The laughter bubbling in his throat died down when he noticed Josh staring at his arm.

The scars had faded, but they were still there. Tyler had cut far too deep, far too often for them to have faded fully, even with proper stitching (although Josh did a pretty good job, all things considered). Most of them were thin and white, slightly raised and, although a stark contrast against Tyler’s tan skin, not too noticeable despite how often they appeared on his arms. The worst were the ones that were pink and shiny, the ones that would never heal completely and always stick out on his skin. 

Josh let go of Tyler’s wrists, tremoring fingers trailing their way over uneven skin. He pulled one arm up and Tyler stopped breathing as Josh placed a soft kiss over one of the worst of the cuts. He continued to kiss along the boy’s arm, lips pressing soft, dry kisses to scarred skin. He only got halfway through, though, before Tyler was pushing himself up and pulling Josh into a hard, desperate kiss. 

In a matter of moments, Josh found himself sitting up with his lovely boy in his lap, scarred arms wrapped round his neck as chapped lips bit against his. His own arms found their way around Tyler’s waist, pulling him close and— _oh god,_ that was Tyler’s ass against his dick. The boy pushed his hips down again, letting out a breathless moan that had Josh dizzy with pure _want._

They hadn’t done anything besides kiss, and the odd makeout session here and there; Josh was more than okay with that. This, though, had him grasping at the boy above him, trying to pull him as close as he possibly could. Eventually they both ended up shirtless, Josh’s thumbs rubbing over the scars he could feel on Tyler’s hips as Tyler left wet, sloppy kisses over Josh’s shoulders and chest. 

Tyler pushed Josh so he was laying flat on his back, the boy maneuvering himself so he ended up between Josh’s legs. He kissed his way down Josh’s stomach, quickly unbuttoning his jeans and mouthing at his cock through his underwear. It wasn’t until Tyler began to pull down his underwear and jeans that Josh realized just what was about to happen.

“Tyler, don’t—”

“Josh?”

His voice sounded so small, so broken as he stared at cuts on Josh’s hips and thighs. Old, healed scars, thin and white; faded but permanent wide, pink ones; brown-tinged healing cuts, ruby red scabs, and fresh red lines still puffy; he had them all. He stared at Tyler as Tyler stared at his skin, saw as the boy’s hands trembled and his lip quivered, as he forced himself to breathe at a normal pace so he wouldn’t have a panic attack. Josh watched all this, completely frozen, until Tyler looked up at him. 

The moment he saw his boyfriend’s eyes, Josh couldn’t take it anymore. He pushed Tyler off, not paying attention to his pleas or protests, and ran to the nearest room with a locked door. He found himself in the bathroom, pants still awkwardly around his thighs as he fumbled with the lock to the door. He couldn’t let Tyler in— _wouldn’t_ let Tyler in. 

“Josh? Josh, can you open the door for me? I just want to talk to you.” 

Tyler’s voice was muffled through the door, but Josh could still hear the underlying tone of panic in his forcefully calm voice.

“Look, I’m not mad, okay? I just— Josh? Josh!”

He had fallen to the floor, knees giving out as the realization of what just happened fully hit him. His breathing started to quicken, heart beating faster and so loud he was certain Tyler could hear it on the other side of the door. He began scratching at his arms, his legs, ripping off scabs and opening the fresher cuts. He didn’t want to do this, especially not here, not with _Tyler,_ but he was alone and panicking and he didn’t know anything else to do.

“Please, Josh!” Tyler was sobbing now, fists banging on the door. “Please let me in! You can’t— I don’t want you to hurt yourself! I— I want to help you.”

Josh was crying too. He didn’t bother trying to wipe his eyes, just kept frantically scratching at red, broken skin.

“Please let me help you.”

Tyler had given up on beating at the door, now just curled up and crying softly against it. He kept repeating, “I want to help you,” over and over, hoping that if he said it enough, Josh would finally hear it. 

They both knew that, eventually, Josh would have to come out of that bathroom; that for the first time in a very long time, Tyler would have to clean bloodstains from his bathroom floor; that Tyler’s first aid kit would be out of bandaids and gauze before the end of the night. What they didn’t know was whether Josh would let Tyler help with his cuts; whether Josh would stay the night at Tyler’s, in Tyler’s bed, with Tyler; whether Tyler would be able to be the same person that Josh was for him three years ago, or whether Josh would let him.

Regardless of what would happen after he came out of the bathroom, one thing was certain: Josh wasn’t opening the door anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu @ twentyoneboyfriends on tumblr


End file.
